I pull up a chair and sit down in front of Gina, who stares at the electric baton in my hand with terrified eyes. Her forehead was covered with sweat and her red lips were blurry from the tape. By this time, Gina had lost her arrogance. She was like a cat shivering in a cage. Fear of the unknown awaits her.
I will never forget the moment when my sister stabbed me with a dagger. Maybe I should have replaced the electric baton with a dagger.
"Go ahead," I said coldly. "You have plenty of time."
I could have guessed what she was doing. But I still wanted to hear her own confession, like the police always do. They always give prisoners a chance to confess. This creates the illusion that the prisoner will be forgiven if he confesses.
"If I tell you the truth, will you let me go?" Gina is st
